


Suits

by misbegotten



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Phil and Clint fight over nothing and then get over it. And there are suits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suits

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to damalur and morganoconner for the beta.

_**Memo to all SHIELD field agents:** _

_There is now a 10% discount on menswear for all SHIELD personnel at Giano's. This is not to be confused with the restaurant of the same name on 7th St._

*

There are ten nearly identical suits hanging in the closet, which seems ridiculous even for a professional Man in Black. Three are in dry cleaners' bags, but Clint knows that one of them has the tiniest charcoal-gray pinstripes; he's cataloged the minute differences between Phil Coulson's suits in his spare time, hanging around makeshift nests with a weapon, a pair of binoculars and Phil's voice warm and low in his ear.

Six of the suits hang side by side like a black curtain of effortless efficiency, all determined to disguise the fact that the guy who wears them could gut you with a paperclip.

The last suit, draped sloppily across a hanger, testifies to how tired Phil was when he took it off, because Phil is never sloppy if he can help it. Clint twitches the lapels in place and shakes out a leg so the crease falls just so, and then everything is right in the world again.

"Always wanted a valet," Phil mumbles, face down into the mattress.

Clint shoots him the finger over his shoulder. "Talk to Stark," he suggests mildly, and Phil groans. There's real pain behind the sound, and Clint shuts the closet door to turn to the bed. The mattress dips as he rolls across, curling up against Phil's back. "Tony-induced migraine?" he asks. He rubs one calloused hand at the back of Phil's neck, and lets the other fall low on Phil's hip. "Or Fury on your case?" He keeps his touch light even as he intones in his best Nick Fury impression, "Agent Coulson, I expect you to keep your people in line. I don't care if they think it's fun to fly over Air Force One and make obscene gestures."

Phil stirs slightly. "Has Stark been...?" He subsides back into the bed sheets. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

Clint smirks, but the tension in Phil's neck bothers him. He concentrates on a particularly stubborn knot, smoothing it out with his thumb, and Phil makes a sound deep in his throat that Clint wouldn't dare call a purr. "Long day at the office?" he prods. He knows Phil wasn't in the field today -- Clint was on stand down, but he keeps close tabs on Phil's schedule, what parts of it aren't locked down and eyes only.

Phil rolls over, flat on his back, and captures Clint's hand with his own, threading their fingers together. "We found Rogers," he says quietly. "The Avenger Initiative is a go."

"And you're worried about babysitting a bunch of loose-cannon freaks?" Clint jokes, but Phil's eyes are pinched and his grip on Clint's hand grows tighter. He hooks his other hand behind Clint's head and pulls him down into a drawn-out kiss, ending on a sigh.

Clint is no super genius, but he's had years of experience getting from A to B in the shortest possible distance. "Aw, boss, you're worried about me." He kisses Phil lightly. "Dumbass."

Phil sighs and digs his fingers into Clint's shoulder. "You're an exceptional agent. You're an expert at what you do. But we're talking some weird stuff here."

Clint knows he's not invincible. He doesn't even have a shiny red metallo war machine suit to protect him. "Natasha's got my back," he says. "And you."

"I expect the whole team to have your back," Phil retorts. "And you theirs. You're not exactly a team player." His lips twitch, Phil's version of a broad smile. "I mean that in the nicest possible way, _honey_."

Irony and a killer stoneface may be Phil's superpowers, but Clint knows when he's being cajoled. "I solemnly swear to try to play nice."

"Just watch your ass," Phil says.

"I'm pretty sure that's your job." Clint dips down for another kiss, this time hard-edged and _more_ , _more_. Phil responds, his tongue electric against Clint's, and Clint covers Phil's body with his own, pushing a knee between Phil's legs to spread them.

There's no more talking tonight.

*

_From: nfury@shield.gov  
To: pcoulson@shield.gov_

_I assume there will be no problems with Barton._

*

There are eight suits in Phil Coulson's closet. Another is currently on Phil, who is filling out supplementary reports at his desk in SHIELD headquarters. One is in Clint Barton's lap as he pointedly puts a finger through a bullet hole in the suit jacket. There will be a corresponding bruise between Phil's third and fourth ribs tonight, Clint knows, because there by the grace of God and Kevlar the round didn't go through. Clint took down the gunman a split second too late from his perch in the rafters across the street.

"You should have given me the go ahead," Clint says flatly.

Phil doesn't look up from his paperwork. "We had no idea that Loki's magic would cause paranoid delusions." He shifts slightly, uncomfortably stiff, and finishes a form with his tidy signature. "I tried to contain the situation." _Contain_ , in Phil's vocabulary, had meant a swift punch to the upper gut of his attacker and a scuffle that he probably would have won had his opponent not been hopped up on Asgardian jungle juice.

Clint tries to sound casual as he says, "Let's go home."

"Your place or mine?" Phil manages to put absolutely no innuendo into it. Clint kind of hates that about him.

Clint thinks of his sparsely-decorated room at the Stark mansion. Then he thinks of screwing Phil into the leather of Phil's fabulous couch, sweat-soaked and hoarse from being gleefully noisy with no All-American Boy next door to hear them.

"Yours," he says firmly.

*

_From: pcoulson@shield.gov  
To: nfury@shield.gov_

_Is this really necessary?_

*

There are six suits hanging in the closet, and two more on Phil Coulson's suit-clad arm. Who the hell moves house in a suit, Clint thinks. Phil Coulson, that's who.

Clint sets down a box carefully labeled _BOOKS_ and rocks on his heels. "Who reads books anymore? Even I have a Kindle."

Phil gives him the deadpan look that makes junior SHIELD agents weep and HYDRA underestimate him. "I like paper over pixels," he says blandly. He puts the suits in their proper place and turns to contemplate the rest of his Avengers-imposed new residence. "JARVIS, when was the last time Hawkeye used his Kindle?"

"Mr. Barton downloaded _The Snowbound Bride_ two evenings ago," JARVIS replies smoothly.

"That is completely unfair," Clint complains. "I can't get the stupid AI to turn off the lights at night." He runs his fingers through his hair. "And it was a free download."

Phil steps closer to Clint. He's just out of kissing distance, and it makes Clint a little crazy. "The AI keeps tabs on everything, Agent Barton. And as long as I'm forced to live in this madhouse, we're going to have to use some discretion."

Clint leans in, his lips ghosting over Phil's. "Everybody knows about us anyway."

"I've got to keep things compartmentalized."

Clint laughs, knowing that somewhere behind him there's a box neatly labeled _T-SHIRTS_ that has a mix of his own wardrobe with Phil's.

Phil grips Clint's arm tightly. "I'm serious, Hawkeye."

"Yes sir, Agent Coulson sir," Clint mocks him and pivots away.

Behind him, he hears Phil sigh. "JARVIS, lights?"

The lights dim obligingly.

*

_**SHIELD Requisition Request** _

_More life-size targets. Thanks. ~Barton_

*

There are four suit-clad targets that come up in uneven rotation in Clint's practice routine. Normally, he aims to avoid them. So far, he's three for four.

"Girl trouble?" Natasha says archly from where she's folded herself in a discrete corner of the practice room. Clint snorts, takes out the fourth voodoo suit, and relaxes his bow.

"I've been compartmentalized," he complains.

"Ah," Natasha says, as if that explains everything, and for her it probably does. "The best offense is a good offense," she suggests.

Clint rubs his chin. "Yeah."

*

_IOU to Tony Stark, one large bottle of really expensive looking booze_

*

There are two outfits Phil has admitted to liking Clint in, besides nothing at all. It's not exactly practical to wear his Avengers uniform for lounging around the mansion, so Clint resorts to the other -- a pair of sagging pajama bottoms and Phil's old NYU t-shirt. He's not exactly dressed for seduction, but damned if Phil doesn't get tight in the shoulders when he ventures out of his room and finds Clint cross-legged in the living room, working on a bowl of ice cream and a glass of scotch.

"I'd avoid the hot fudge," Phil says dryly. "I'm not sure where in Tony Stark it's been."

Clint waves a spoon, narrowly avoiding getting a splotch of cherry ripple on the NYU logo. "Noted, _sir_."

Phil arches an eyebrow, obviously determined to outwit Clint's sullenness with an implacable facade. "Drop the sir," he says, and there's a note of something in his voice that makes Clint feel childish and ashamed.

"You've been reckless in the field," Phil continues. "I don't want you taking chances."

Clint lets the spoon clink back into the bowl. "You're the one who put Rogers in charge in the field." It's been bugging him, not having Phil's voice in his ear. "I do as I'm ordered."

"You weren't ordered to drop on four HYDRA agents. You could have taken them down by rifle."

Clint takes a swig of scotch, feeling the burn on his split lip. "I had the advantage of surprise."

"You threw away your best advantage when you left your post," Phil snaps, and Clint blinks at his loss of temper. Phil takes a breath, then adds more softly, "They're your team now. Learn to trust them."

"I thought they were _our_ team," Clint says bitterly.

*

_From: nfury@shield.gov  
To: pcoulson@shield.gov_

_Get your house in order._

*

There's one suit. It's Clint's favorite, with charcoal-gray pinstripes. The jacket is pressed against Clint's side, staunching the blood flow.

"Hey," Phil says gently. "Stay with us."

"S'okay," Clint slurs. Phil's pants are filthy too. Clint wonders, as he fades off, if the dry cleaner can do anything to salvage the suit. It's his favorite.

*

_**Receipt from Giano's for Men** _

_1 men's suit, black with gray pinstripe_

*

Phil is wearing his NYU t-shirt and a pair of jeans. It's Sunday at the mansion and nobody has called for any avenging. Clint snuggles into Phil's fabulous leather couch and sighs contentedly. "I needed a vacation," he pronounces. "A little time to kick back and just relax."

Phil snorts. It's not an attractive sound, and Clint loves it. "You call six weeks of physical therapy a vacation." He settles on the couch next to Clint and snakes a hand under Clint's shirt, teasing the line of the latest scar. "At least Thor was nice enough to read trashy romance novels to you."

Clint tries not to shiver at Phil's touch. "I'm pretty sure at the end he was just making stuff up. I don't think Harlequin has a 'nine worlds' series."

Phil hikes up Clint's t-shirt, pulling it over his head and then discarding it completely. "I got you a card," Phil reminds him.

"Oh sure, it was very discreet." As if Phil sitting non-stop by his bedside while Clint lay unconscious was subtle. Clint thumbs Phil's jeans open. "Are we done being discreet?"

Phil bucks at the first touch of Clint's hand on his cock. "JARVIS, when did Tony last check the security feed in this room?"

"I am not authorized to access that information," JARVIS replies. Clint laughs at the thought of there being anything JARVIS can't access.

Phil captures Clint's mouth with his, and there's no more talking tonight.

Some hoarse shouting, definitely.

*

_JARVIS is deactivated in your suite. Turn off your own damned lights and keep the noise down. ~ TS_


End file.
